The Tri Departmental Tournament
by Nutmeggedya
Summary: Four DunderMifflin employees from different departments are forced to participate in an epic contest. The Office meets the Tri Wizard Tournament...ish. Wicked AU. Occurs during Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"DAMMIT JIM!"

Jim looked up from his keyboard, totally unfazed by the hollering of his co-worker. "Hey, Dwight, what's up?" he said calmly.

Dwight ignored the greeting. His hands roamed greedily across the surface of his desk and plunged into his drawers. Breathless and flushed, he retracted his hands and turned to face Jim.

"Where are my glasses!?" he demanded.

"How would I know?" Jim brushed him off, winking at Pam before returning to his work. She giggled as Dwight frowned at him, diving back into the mess on his desk. Suddenly, Dwight gave a triumphant yell.

"Got 'em!" he cried, snatching the glasses up from where they had been hibernating under some files. He began to clean the lenses using his horrible orange tie, but in the middle of doing so realized that something was amiss. Holding the glasses close to his face, he squinted at them for a moment before shoving them on his nose.

"Dammit Jim," he repeated, softer this time, as he swiveled his chair to face the other salesman once more. Jim fought to suppress a smile, but it was tough to keep a straight face while having a staring contest with a man wearing half moon spectacles.

His smile did him in. "See!" Dwight cried, brandishing his pointer finger at him. "I knew it was you!" As an afterthought he added, "How did you know my prescription?"

"Dwight, I'm telling you, I didn't do anything," Jim professed.

"You're lying," Dwight accused. "If you didn't do it, then would my usual glasses have been switched for half moon Albus Dumbledore spectacles in my exact prescription?"

Jim grinned. "It must have been magic."

Dwight scowled.

* * *

Kevin swore colorfully as the tip of yet another pencil splintered, smearing a dark smudge across his quarterly report. Oscar patted his friend's arm sympathetically as Kevin shoved his work to the other end of the break room's table. Angrily, he pulled his Cup-O-Noodles towards himself instead. 

"I _hate_ quarterly reports," Kevin muttered into his lunch.

"I can tell," Oscar smiled, grabbing a fifth pencil for his friend. "But stabbing them isn't going to make them go away. Violence isn't the answer, Kev."

Kevin glared at him briefly, then returned to his noodles.

The two men looked up from the table as Angela stormed through the door, a sheaf of papers clenched in her fist. She stared them down for a moment, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed white.

Kevin gulped.

"Hey Angela…" Oscar ventured tentatively.

Strike one for Oscar.

"What do you think you're doing!?" she screamed.

Oscar flinched. Kevin frowned. "Um…quarterly reports?" Kevin supplied.

"No," Angela seethed. "That's what you're _supposed _to be doing!" She threw the papers she held onto the table. "These are _not_ quarterly reports!"

"What's wrong with them?"

"What's _wrong_ with them?" she repeated, purpling with rage. "I'll tell you what's _wrong _with them, Kevin. Everything! I need expenses, billing, and a list of every and any affiliate or employee of Dunder-Mifflin, and I need it _now_. FIX THIS!"

She stormed out and slammed the door, leaving the two in stunned silence.

Oscar pushed away his salad and cleared his throat. "Maybe we should get going on this."

"Yeah."

"I'll work on the billing if you work on the list."

Kevin sighed. "Fine."

They worked quietly for a while…until Kevin's pencil broke again.

"That's…it!" Kevin growled. "I'm all done being pushed around by Angela! This is stupid. She needs to help, too!" With a frustrated growl, he took up his list and began to shred it. He pulled off each individual name and balled it up tight.

Oscar watched Kevin flip out with wide eyes. It was unlike the big man to react with this much emotion towards anything that wasn't Italian, edible, or nude.

"Kevin, you probably shouldn't do that," Oscar warned.

Kevin kept tearing. "This is so dumb!" he cried. "We don't need a list of employees and affiliates! I'M DONE!"

Oscar watched him angrily toss the tiny paper balls into his Cup-O-Noodles. Realizing there was no way he could do damage control at this point, Oscar shrugged and returned back to his own work.

Dwight waltzed into the break room just as Kevin heaved a sigh of satisfaction and leaned back in his chair.

"Done," Kevin smiled.

Oscar leaned over and peered into his Cup-O-Noodles. "Gross," he said.

"What's gross?" Dwight wondered, fishing his Baby Ruth out of the vending machine.

"Kevin's lunch," Oscar said, looking around at Dwight. Oscar scoffed. "Nice glasses."

Dwight ignored him. "What happened to Kevin's lunch? Did it go bad? I told Michael we needed to make the refrigerator cooler…."

"Nah, it's not old. I put paper in it," Kevin informed him proudly.

Dwight nearly keeled over. "You did WHAT?!"

"I…put paper in it?"

Dwight gestured angrily at Kevin with his candy bar. "You don't deserve to work for a paper company! You defile the product that we work so hard to create!"

"We don't make the paper," Kevin reminded him. "We just sell it."

"We should sell you," Dwight spat. "You're worthless."

"Hey…" Kevin whined.

"Shut up!" Oscar piped up.

"What's wrong?" Kevin asked, turning from Dwight to Oscar.

"Kev…" Oscar said. "Your lunch...it's…_smoking_."

"What?"

"No, look," Oscar said. "There's smoke coming out of your Cup-O-Noodles!"

Indeed there was.

"I'll get the fire extinguisher!" Dwight volunteered, making to run out the door.

"Wait!" Kevin said. "Wait! Look!"

The three crowded around the Styrofoam cup, which had begun to whistle. Suddenly, there was a pop and a tiny ball of paper shot up from the noodles and hit Kevin square between the eyes. Three more followed in quick succession.

"Ow," Kevin muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose.

Oscar scrambled for the pieces of paper, but Dwight held him back. "Stop!" he cried. "As a volunteer sheriff, it's my duty to determine if these papers are harmful!"

Oscar rolled his eyes and gathered the papers in his hands anyways.

"If you die, I'm just going to say 'I told you so,'" Dwight mumbled.

Oscar peeled open the soggy bits of paper and spread them on the table.

"Hey," Kevin said, "that's my handwriting."

"They're names," Oscar realized, "from the list you were writing."

"Oh my god," Dwight breathed, pushing his half moon specs higher up on his nose. "I know what this is."

"What?"

"The people who shot out of the Cup-O-Noodles…they're the new competitors!"

"Competitors for what?"

Dwight gazed meaningfully from Oscar to Kevin and then back to the papers. "For the Tri-Departmental Tournament, of course."

* * *

_Author's Note: The idea for this story just sort of popped into my head and I figured that it's kind of dumb, but it's more fun than doing my English homework, so…let me know if it's worth continuing. I have a really good idea of where it will end up going if people are interested. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"The Tri….Tri…what tournament?" Kevin stumbled.

Dwight rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. "The Tri-_Departmental_ Tournament, duh. Merlin's beard, don't you read?"

Kevin thought about it. "Does 'Maxim' count?"

Dwight rolled his eyes again, disgusted, and ignored Kevin. Instead, he screamed:

"MICHAEL!"

Oscar dug into his ear. "Ow, Dwight." Dwight scowled at him.

A few seconds passed until Michael burst through the door, panting a little. "What is it? What's wrong?" he huffed.

"Kevin's lunch is…vomiting," Oscar supplied, "and Dwight thinks it's significant. But it's not."

Michael chuckled. "What are you talking about? Cup-O-Noodles can't regurge…regurgilate. And by the way, nice glasses, Dwight."

Dwight ignored the jibe at his attire and prattled away, "Yes, Michael, Cup-O-Noodles _can _regurgitate! They can! We all saw it, and it's in the rule book! Once every 76 years, the lunch of a Dunder-Mifflin employee spits out the names of the competitors for the most respected competition in the paper industry!"

"Every 76 years?" Oscar scoffed. "Isn't that when Haley's Comet is visible?"

Dwight glared at him.

"Tri-Departmental Tournament?" Michael repeated. "Dwight, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, but I have bigger problems on my hands right now."

"Oh, no," Dwight breathed. "Possible downsizing? Is Jan breaking up with you? Did Stanley lose his crossword puzzle book again?"

"Worse," Michael sighed. "Darryl just called from the warehouse and was rattling on about the uncontrollable growth of a hedge or something…."

Dwight sucked in a breath.

"What?" said Oscar.

"Uncontrollable hedge growth…that's a sign!" Dwight gushed.

"Sign of wh – okay, see you later!" Michael called to Oscar and Kevin as Dwight lurched up, grabbed his boss, and yanked him toward the warehouse.

* * *

"Sweet Aunt Mae's garter belt…" Dwight breathed, surveying the chaos in the warehouse from the top of the stairs. Tall green hedges bloomed everywhere, tipping shelves of paper and heaps of machinery. The workers scrambled everywhere, yelling and beating at the growth. 

Darryl, who was trying to run over a hedge with a fork lift, noticed the two at the top of the stairs. "Hey, Mike!" he called. "Fix this!"

"This is bad!" Michael squeaked, watching the hectic scene below with wide, darting eyes.

"Nuh-uh," Dwight disagrees, in a happy daze. "This isn't bad…this amazing…this is…_epic_."

"How is this epic!?"

Dwight shook his head from side to side and gave his boss a condescending pat on the back. "Duh, Michael. It means that it's time."

"Time for…?"

"Okay, honestly, how many times do I have to say this!? Time for the Tri-Departmental Tournament!"

"You're serious?"

Dwight pointed at his pressed lips, steely eyes, and furrowed brows. "Does this look like the face of someone who's kidding?"

Michael shook his head.

"That's what I thought."

Michael said wisely, "I'd better call a conference."

Dwight beamed. "Excellent! I'll grab my rule book."

Dwight turned on his heel and left. Michael made to follow.

"Hey!" Darryl called, unsuccessfully attempting to ram his way through the sprouting greenery. "Mike! MIKE! FIX THIS!"

Michael waved and left.

Darryl sighed.

* * *

_Author's Note: Hooray, back for more! Sorry that this chapter was short. I planned on including the conference, too, but I'm leaving for NY in…five seconds…so I'll post again in a few days. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I'm not going to be a review Nazi or anything but…they make me feel warm and fuzzy, so keep 'em coming, please. :D _

_Pink the Color__ – Thanks for the heads up. I went back and edited. Spell check doesn't catch my stupid content mistakes, so I really appreciate it! If I do something else stupid, let me know…and I'm glad you like the HP-Office crossover!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kelly patted the seat next to her enthusiastically. Suppressing a sigh, Ryan grudgingly sat beside her.

"If this meeting is about Stanley losing his crossword puzzle again, I'm going to kill myself!" Kelly giggled.

Ryan pulled his hand into his sleeve and crossed his fingers.

Creed settled himself down on Kelly's other side. He leaned closer and informed her, "I heard that we're all in here 'cause Andrea's cat died."

Kelly gasped in horror. Ryan furrowed his eyebrows. "Andrea?"

"Right-o." Creed nodded slowly. "It was murdered. Blown to smithereens. All they could find was one tiny claw."

"What killed it?" Kelly pressed, engrossed in the story."

"A snow blower."

Just as Ryan was about to point out that it was a warm, snow-less May, Michael swept into the conference room.

He stood in front of the black television screen with his arms crossed over his chest, gazing meaningfully at each employee in turn. After a minute of awkward, heavy silence, Michael drew a deep breath. With weight, he said rhetorically, "What is…competition?"

Before he could proceed to answer his own question, Kevin spoke. "I though competition was a burning candle that smells like cookies."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I asked 'What is _competition_,' Kevin, not 'What is stupid.'"

Jim raised his hand.

Michael pointed at him. "Jim."

"Are we playing Jeopardy?" he asked.

"No," said Michael.

"Okay. I was confused on account of everyone saying 'what is' and then another word."

Stanley's monotone drawl interrupted the exchange. "Michael, can you just get to the

point and tell us why we're gathered in the conference room?"

"This doesn't have anything to do with what happened to Kevin's lunch, does it Michael?" asked Oscar, who looked concerned.

"It has _everything_ to do with Kevin's lunch! Thanks for asking!" Michael grinned at Oscar, who slumped in his seat.

"Great," he muttered.

Phyllis piped up, "Michael, I'm lost. What's going on here?"

"The Tri-Departmental Tournament," Dwight supplied from his position behind Michael.

"Shuuuut…it, Dwight!" Michael hissed. He then cleared his throat and said, "The Tri-Departmental Tournament."

"Which is…?" wondered Angela.

Pushing his half moon spectacles up his nose with one hand and gripping a thick tome in the other, Dwight stepped in front of his boss and enthused, "It's only the most respected competition a mid-range failing paper supply firm company in Scranton, Pennsylvania can be forced to participate in!"

"Forced?" Karen repeated skeptically.

Dwight hesitated. "Well…yes, forced. You see, every 76 years, the names of three employees from three different departments are randomly chosen to compete in a series of life-threatening activities. It's mandatory. It's painful. But…there is a prize."

"Prize?!" Andy exclaimed. "Like money?"

"No," said Dwight. "The winner gets the top salesman in the branch."

"As in the title of top salesman?" Andy asked eagerly.

"No," Dwight said again. "They win the actual person."

Kevin raised his hand, and Dwight called on him. Looking confused, the big man asked, "Dwight, didn't you say that there were only three people who competed?"

"That's correct."

"Then how come four names popped out of my noodles?"

"Ah," said Dwight, flipping through his book until he reached a dog-eared page. "According to Chapter 27, Article 589.7 under the 'It Sucks For You' Clause…" he drew breath and read aloud, "'If by chance a fourth contestant should be put forth, he or she has no choice but to compete in the competition. Ha ha.'"

"What would cause a fourth competitor to be chosen?" Andy wondered.

Dwight adjusted his half moon specs and then looked at his book again. "It says here that over-cooking the food product where the names came from could cause an extra to be put forth."

"Oops," Kevin mumbled.

"So," said Andy eagerly, "whose names were chosen? Was it me? Am I one?"

Dwight reached into his pocket and withdrew the tiny balls of paper. He made to open them and read them aloud, but Michael dove in before he had a chance.

"Mine!" Michael cried. "I want to read them!" He made a show of slowly unraveling each of the little balls and smoothing them in his hand. Then, in a strong voice, he announced, "The competitors are…Meredith, Karen, Katy, and Pam!"

There was an instant uproar.

"Katy doesn't even work here!" protested Angela.

"Why are they all girls?" whined Andy. "I wanna play!"

"I refuse to do this sober!" hollered Meredith.

"Hey!" called Dwight above the noise. "Shut up!"

It went quiet.

He continued, "The four chosen people _must_ compete. And even though Katy only worked here for one day, the noodles say she's in, and we don't mess with the noodles. And Andy, you'll get a chance to be part of it. Those who aren't chosen to be competitors will be part of the obstacles."

"What happens if we don't want to compete in this ridiculous game?" Karen said defiantly.

"You die." Dwight stared her down. She gulped and broke eye contact.

"Well…" Pam ventured, trying to see the bright side of things, "at least there's a prize."

Dwight's face lit up. "I'd almost forgot!" he said. "The prize! The winner gets me!"

Angela looked furious. Toby looked hesitant.

"Actually, Dwight…" he ventured.

"What?" Dwight demanded.

"Well…you did say that the prize was the top salesman of the branch, right?"

Dwight nodded in agreement.

"Well…" Toby continued, "you're…not the top salesman."

Angela looked relieved. Dwight looked flabbergasted. "What?!" he choked.

"Yeah…" said Toby, staring pointedly at his knees. "The top salesman is actually…well, it's Jim."

There was a stunned silence in the conference room as the entire group settled their eyes on wide-eyed Jim.

"Hoo-kay!" Michael cried, interrupting the chirping crickets. "Let's get our maze on!"

* * *

_Author's note: Hey people. My apologies for not posting in a very long time. I've been preparing for midterms and stuff…but having just finally realized that I'm screwed no matter what I do, I decided to stop studying (ahhhhhh AP bio!!!!) and write this. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and added this story to favorite and alert lists! I really appreciate it. High fives all around. _


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